


Five Times Andrew Holmes Surprised His Parents

by SkipandDi (ladyflowdi)



Series: Moments from the Infiltrate Universe [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/SkipandDi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew's never been afraid of his father. Other people are, for lots of reasons, usually good ones. His father can pretend to be almost anything, even someone not very nice at all. Papa is always Papa though, so it never bothers Andrew when he acts, and he never acts like that to Andrew anyway, so Andrew doesn't see the big deal. </p>
<p>Well, he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Andrew Holmes Surprised His Parents

**Author's Note:**

> Skip and I wrote these five vignettes at different times throughout Infiltrate, and here they are collected for the first time. Andrew is a spunky little kid, we love him.

1.  
Andrew's never been afraid of his father. Other people are, for lots of reasons, usually good ones. His father can pretend to be almost anything, even someone not very nice at all. Papa is always Papa though, so it never bothers Andrew when he acts, and he never acts like that to Andrew anyway, so Andrew doesn't see the big deal. 

Well, he didn't. 

They're all shopping for school clothes today, all at once because, Papa says, Dad treats it like a war campaign. They're even getting clothes for little Kaden, though Dad says they have lots of hand-me-downs from Andrew that fit him already. Papa doesn't want his children wearing hand-me-downs, and though Andrew agrees with Dad and would rather be home poking at his experiment in the freezer, he doesn't say so, not when Papa has that particular tone. 

It's so _boring_ , they already have tons of clothes so this is pointless, and Andrew isn't paying any attention at all, so it's not surprising at all when he bumps into someone. Andrew has to pay attention to what he's doing all the time, or he'll end up hitting walls and tables and sometimes cars -- it'd had only happened once when the car was moving though, which Andrew thought were pretty good odds. His parents felt otherwise, but they think otherwise about everything.

"Sorry," Andrew says, looking up. The man is younger than Andrew's parents by maybe five years, works as a technician at a local hospital, and isn't there to buy anything, which is weird. 

The man smiles at him. "Ta, don't worry about it." 

Andrew is going to say thank you, which is polite, his grandmum would be proud, he'll tell her about it later and maybe she'll give him something, but he's pushed over by his father. Andrew looks at him and opens his mouth to ask what's going on, but his father makes the hand signal that means be quiet, so Andrew keeps his mouth shut. He would have been quiet anyway, because for the first time in his life, he thinks his father looks _scary._

"Get out of here," Papa says to the man. His voice is super low, and _mean_ , really mean, meaner than when he talks to Gregson, or to that one woman who had been lying about money during a divorce, and Papa had _hated_ her. The man looks startled, and scared, and he turns to leave without another glance at anyone. 

"What's wrong with him?" Andrew asks his father. 

Papa turns and looks down at Andrew, and he's just Papa again, not scary at all. "Nothing you need to worry about." He looks up and blanches. "Go tell your Dad no one is allowed to wear that jumper in our house, he might as well put it back."

Andrew would have forgotten all about the man, but he has a good memory like his father and his uncle, and even though he's mostly focused on his book he remembers the man's face when he sees it on the news the next day. "That's the man from the store!" 

Dad looks at the TV from his spot at the table, typing in the slowest way humanly possible on his laptop, two things that are never-ending sources of embarrassment for Andrew. "How do you know that man?" he asks, super intense, serious enough that Lucy and Monica look up from where they're creating clay monsters on the floor at Dad too. Papa is on the sofa with Kaden, showing him stuff through one of his magnifying glasses, and he doesn't seem concerned at all, but he's the only one.

Andrew's guessing it has something to do with the 'indictments' the man is being prosecuted for, but it's not on the screen anymore so Andrew can't guess, he'll have to google it later. "He was at the store yesterday, I walked into him and then Papa was mean to him and the man ran away." 

Dad looks at Papa, who glances up, unconcerned. "Not to worry, John, I dealt with him."

Dad waves a hand at the screen. "That's your doing, isn't it?"

"Of course," Papa says, shifting around to lay flat across the sofa, sitting Kaden on his stomach. Dad says Papa is 'fastidious', but that's nonsense because he never cares when Kaden drools all over him, which is gross. "I'm sure Mycroft will be happy to look in on the proceedings as well, once I've informed him of the impetus." 

Usually this is when Dad gives Papa grief over his abuse of power, like he's Machiavelli or Louis XIV or Margaret Thatcher, but this time he just gives Papa a weird look, says, "Good," and goes back to his writing. 

"So _weird_ ," Andrew says under his breath, and goes back to his reading. 

 

2.  
The day Sherlock met John he'd been forced to reevaluate his entire mental storage system. 

Suddenly, all the available space was being taken up by this solitary individual, a single man who unwittingly incited a cyclone of chaos and confusion. Everything John did seemed important, even the things that obviously weren't, the things no one else even noticed. It was incredibly aggravating.

It took him almost a year to make the necessary updates, to reset his parameters, to carve out more space. It took him nearly as long to realize that this was his approach to being in love, the damming evidence he was in fact capable of caring about a person other than himself.

Of course John had returned the favor, put Sherlock on a pedestal in his life, ahead and above everyone else. It made Sherlock want to preen and gloat in the most unseemly ways imaginable. But there wasn't room on that pedestal for two people, Sherlock had gone far out of his way to make sure of that. He himself certainly didn't have the available space for another person either. He'd assumed that the event of his son's birth would change little in either respect. Andrew would be theirs to raise and train, therefore they could implement a lifestyle that suited their (or more specifically, Sherlock's) needs. Sherlock would continue to be the center of John's world, and Sherlock could simply add Andrew in as an addendum to the ever-growing file on one John H. Watson.

This is not what happens.

Andrew David William Watson-Holmes II, in an incredibly Watsonian move, only needed twenty-four hours to throw Sherlock's life plans into complete disarray. In the following twenty-six days he's managed to reduce Sherlock to this: ignoring three cases and five possible leads, instead using his time to sit like a stone in an uncomfortable hospital chair. John is only a few feet away, pacing the room with a military precision that convinces everyone to give him a wide berth.

Of course the way Sherlock systematically dissected everyone who came within his line of sight might have had something to do with the distance as well. In his own defense he hasn't said anything at all the last hour and seventeen minutes. Lestrade is standing awkwardly in the doorway, glancing between them in concern; Mycroft is sitting perfectly at ease, reading off of his ridiculous tablet laptop like he's in a coffeehouse with a newspaper. That he hasn't opened his mouth yet is the only reason Sherlock hasn't flung him out a window. Instead Sherlock examines the words _routine_ , and _predictable_ , and considers how very little in his life is either, and how many ways what's happening now could fail to prove an exception.

"He's all set," Dr. Chin says, startling Sherlock, who was apparently so far gone he hadn't even noticed the man's approach. "Everything went quite well, he should be able to go home first thing tomorrow morning."

"Can we see him?" John asks, as they crowd around the surgeon. John's eyes are so wide, and so very blue, his entire heart written across them, open for all the world to see. Sherlock is momentarily derailed by what's on display, by how quickly and completely John has fallen. Even more startling, he finds he can't blame John for it; if there's to be another person receiving John's attention, his affection, at least it's someone deserving.

Dr. Chin glances at Mycroft, who stares back serenely. "Of course -- follow me."

Sherlock isn't particularly familiar with the nature of the NHS but he does know most infants don't have their own rooms, and even fewer have their own rooms with a queen size bed on the other side for the baby's parents to sleep in. If he could spare a look at Mycroft he would, but Sherlock is too busy staring down at his son, who is frighteningly, alarmingly small in the incubator, patches on both his eyes, wrapped in a blanket with a blue infant cap on his head. He hears John suck in a sharp breath next to him and knows he's thinking much the same. Sherlock has his hands out before he realizes what he's doing and forces himself to stop.

"You can pick him up." Dr. Chin reassures him. "Skin to skin contact is comforting for him."

Sherlock has his son in his hands before the doctor's done talking, staring into his face like if he just looks hard enough he can see through the cloth to make sure everything is alright. Andrew is calm, still sleepy from the anesthetic, but his fingers open and close gently against the blanket. Sherlock hears Lestrade and his brother leave but doesn't look up, strokes a finger on Andrew's cheek, watches Andrew's mouth part at the contact. He's perfectly alright, and tomorrow he'll go home, and Sherlock will do whatever makes him happy, whatever keeps him safe and whole. Sherlock has found in the last three weeks he does indeed have yet more space for another person.

He is a genius, after all.

 

3.  
Andrew really, really likes his new school.

He likes his teacher, Mrs. Henderson, very much. She gives him interesting worksheets and books and lets him lead story time on Friday afternoons, and really, Andrew thinks she’s the best teacher he ever had because she isn’t really boring, only a little boring sometimes. And she’s always smiling, because she’s very happy and always likes to give hugs when someone is down, and lets them play out in the rain with rain slickers they made and big yellow wellies. She loves them, and she says it all the time, and shows them too, because she eats lunch with them every single day even when she looks like she’s a little tired, and she plays kickball too, and she even gives Andrew mathematics problems from the big kid classes that are hard to puzzle out. Those are Andrew’s favorite kind.

Andrew likes the kids in his class, too. There are lots of boys, and only a few girls, but the girls are nice. There’s only one mean kid – Byron – but Daddy told him to stay away from him, so Andrew doesn’t talk to him really. At recess time Byron likes to pick on everyone. Lucy is in Mrs. Murphey’s class but she plays with him at recess time, and that’s fun, because they don’t have swings at home, because their garden is far too small, which is what they found out when Papa tried to get them swings. They only have a small slide, with a small ladder that Andrew doesn’t like very much because it’s small and boring really. Andrew doesn’t have a bestie, only Lucy, but he has lots of other friends and that’s okay, because Andrew’s best friend is at his old school still, because his mama is French and she wanted him to stay there. Andrew misses him, even though he gets to see him on weekends sometimes to play.

Andrew has an almost best friend named Reese. He’s fun, and likes to make things with clay, that’s his favorite. He also doesn’t mind when Andrew helps him with his homework, because he can’t write good yet and makes his ‘e’s backwards. They play sometimes together, and Mrs. Henderson lets Andrew be Reese’s partner sometimes even though they sit on opposite sides of the class because of ‘A’ and ‘R’.

One day though, it’s so weird because Reese comes to school and he looks different. He has long hair already, and that day his hair has a braid in it, like Papa does for Lucy when she’ll sit still long enough. And his jumper is purple, with white stripes, and his shoes have pink sparkles on them. Andrew doesn’t mind, not really, and no one else even really notices, but it makes him think so much and so hard that his head hurts by the end of the day. Lucy doesn’t seem to notice either, and Andrew doesn’t know how she doesn’t, only that it must be another way Andrew is Unique, like what Dr. Clarkson says when he comes from the You-ni-buh-suhtee to see Andrew and show him his micronsoaps.

The bell rings, and Andrew gets his bag with his colored pencils and homework and the book about Marco Polo Mrs. Henderson gave him to read, and goes out front with the other kids who get picked up from school, holding Lucy’s hand. Reese waves to them, and Andrew waves back, and when he sneaks a look at Lucy she still hasn’t noticed.

Papa is waiting for them, it’s easy to pick him out of the crowd, and they race up to him together, squeezing him around the middle even when he makes grumpy noises. He kisses them, and lifts Lucy up because it’s her turn, and holds Andrew’s hand tightly, and they cross the street to the Tube. Lucy has dance practicing on Thursdays, she’s in the second level because she’s six now and Andrew is almost six and soon it will be his birthday, Daddy said so. He’s glad he doesn’t do dance practicing, though, because he falls sometimes because of his feet.

Daddy isn’t home when Andrew and Papa get there, because Daddy has Work on Thursdays late. He always picks up Lucy and brings home take-away on Thursdays, and Andrew’s tummy goes rumbling when he thinks about it, so Papa gives him biscuits and lets him come up to the lab.

Andrew sits on the stool and eats his biscuits, and wonders if Reese’s mummy buys him those clothes, and if maybe they’re poor and so she could only buy girl clothes for Reese. And Andrew wonders if he’ll have to have girl clothes too, if Daddy and Papa don’t have money. “I wouldn’t mind, Papa,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“If we had no money and you had to buy clothes that weren’t boy clothes.”

Papa looks up from his speriment. His goggles make his eyes super huge enormous. “Why would we buy you clothes that weren’t boy clothes?”

“If we were poor, like Reese.”

“Reese? Your friend?”

“Yeah, he’s a cool friend, he likes art and shows me how to do paints, and then I help him with his ‘e’s because he can’t do them so good.”

“‘He doesn’t do them well’.”

“Yeah,” Andrew says. “I think he and his mummy maybe don’t have lots of money.”

Papa pushes over a slide. Andrew sticks it in the micronsoap and looks into it, squinting until he can see the wibbly wobbly little germies. “Neat!”

“Very,” Papa says. After a while he asks, “Did Reese come to school in girl’s clothes?”

Andrew nods, bumping his glasses on the micronsoap. He winces, pushing them down his nose a little, and then after making sure Papa won’t be mad, he takes them off to see the wibbly wobblies better as they swim around. “Yeah, a purple jumper and shoes like you bought Lucy that one time and then Daddy had to throw them away because she stepped in chew-gum. And his hair too. And when we played he didn’t want to play like always, he wanted to go talk to the girls in our class. They play silly girl games. I thought it was because he was feeling bad because he was wearing girl’s clothes, but he didn’t want to come back and play Astro Fighters, and I was a little bit sad. But then Boyd and Apple wanted to play so it was okay.”

Papa hums, loooow low low inside his throat, and Andrew wants to grow up to make those noises too, because they make him laugh. But he doesn’t laugh this time, and after a while Papa says, “How would you feel if Reese simply wanted to wear girl’s clothes?”

Andrew looks up, puts his glasses back on. “Why would he do that?”

“Everyone is different, Andrew, surely you know that by now.”

“Mr. Clarkson says everybody is different, and that some people are Unique, like me, but that all the people in the whole world are special all because they’re them. But why would Reese want to pretend to be a girl?”

“Many reasons,” Papa says, coming to sit next to him. He puts another slide in the micronsoap and looks down into it himself, moving around the knob that makes it big or small. “Does it bother you?”

“That’s silly,” Andrew says, giggling. “Reese is my friend forever, maybe even my bestie because Jordan is at my old school still and he’ll be my first bestie forever, but Reese can be my new one. And he’s nice, too, and likes art – did I tell you?”

“You did,” Papa says, nudging him to look down at the slide. These wibbly wobblies look different, green and blue instead of red.

“And too, did you know, no one even noticed? Not even Mrs. Henderson,” Andrew tells him, looking up. “Not even when Reese went to the girl side to play footie. No one told him he couldn’t.”

“I see,” Papa says, and reaches out to fix Andrew’s glasses. “I think perhaps Reese is just trying to express himself. Like when he does art, or you do your math problems. It’s a way to show other people who you are inside.”

Andrew frowns. “Reese is a girl inside?”

Papa puts his chin on his hand, like he sometimes did when he was tired, or thinking very hard. “Some people are different from their inside to their outside.”

He thinks about that, for a minute. “That must be sad.”

“I think so,” Papa replies softly.

Andrew bites his lip. “Dr. Clarkson told me too that sometimes people who are different or Unique, sometimes those people have it harder than other people, because of jealousness, or because other people don’t understand.” He looks up at his Papa. “Will people be bad to Reese because of jealousness and meanness?”

“There are a lot of ignorant people in the world,” Papa says, and nudges his chin down and his fringe falls into his eyes like it does for Andrew sometimes too.

Andrew frowns. “I’ll help him, and make sure no one is mean to him. Because different and special are okay things to be, and it wouldn’t be nice if someone was mean to Reese.”

“That’s very good, Andrew.” Papa smiles at him, a special smile he’s only ever had for Andrew, and only when Andrew does something Unique and special. Not even Lucy got a smile like that, and it feels warm and wonderful and Andrew throws his arms around his Papa’s waist, and Papa catches him up into his lap and hugs him. 

 

4.  
The first thing Andrew said when he climbed into the car was, “I don’t feel so good.”

Unfortunately, this declaration came amidst day six of Monica and Lucy’s Epic Throwdown (which picked up again every time either of them was within ten feet of the other and which had to do with the Lily Locket makeup kit Andrew had absolutely not accidentally taken apart by accident, accidentally) and Kaden doing his utmost best to scream until his little head popped or his tooth finally came in, one or the other. Add to that Dad shouting at the traffic and his phone or both at the same time, and Andrew might as well have declared his run for prime minister for all that he was acknowledged.

They spilled into Baker Street, his dad juggling Kaden, untangling Lucy and Monica from each other’s hair, and bellowing down the hall to Papa, who poked his head out of the basement office and looked as if he’d rather not, thank you. Andrew could hardly blame him.

He didn’t feel well while doing his homework, and taking a shower, and by the time it was dinner it had gotten even worse. His stomach hurt a lot, and he felt nauseous, and his back simply _ached_ , like someone had kicked him right in the middle of it. “Andrew?” his dad asked when he walked into the kitchen, but by then Monica had tried to shove a handful of mashed potatoes into Lucy’s face and Dad was too busy yelling at the both of them to notice Andrew.

He saw Papa in passing, the door to his bedroom open just a crack as he rocked Kaden in his arms and the baby shook with the force of his own tears.

Andrew took his plate to his bedroom but felt far too sorry for himself to take even a single bite, worse when Dad dragged Lucy and Monica up the stairs, the two of them shrieking and utterly at each other’s throats. Nobody cared, nobody even _listened_ to him, he was sick and he wanted his parents and nobody was _coming_ , they were both too busy with everyone else, they didn’t care if he lived or died.

He bit his lip until his throat stopped being so tight and it didn’t hurt to swallow anymore. He was just so tired, and everything was hurting so much that he was sick a little on his duvet, but he couldn’t even get up to clean it.

He went to sleep. When he opened his eyes again Papa was in the corner of the room, pacing on his phone, Lucy and Monica were standing in the doorway staring at him, and Dad was sitting on the bed beside him, holding a compress on his head.

“Hello there love,” Dad said, and before he could help it Andrew burst into tears.

“Shhhh,” Dad whispered, brushing his big hand over Andrew’s hair. “Everything is alright now, Papa and I are here.”

Papa said into his phone, “Yes 221B. And please make it a bit quicker than the last time, will you?” and when he’d snapped it closed he turned around and demanded, “Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling well?”

“Sherlock,” Dad said, and Andrew cried even harder. It hurt his back so much and he made a terrible sound and Dad pulled him into his lap like he hadn’t done in a long time. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed and Papa said, “Hush now,” and brushed his fingers through Andrew’s hair.

“Where does it hurt?” Dad said, his hands moving over his shoulders, his back. “Did someone hit you?”

“No I just don’t feel good, my stomach hasn’t been feeling good,” Andrew said, and just the mention of it made him gag, made him bring up what little he’d eaten that whole day, all over his pajamas. It made him jerk forward, made the pain inside him go hot like Papa’s Bunsen burner, and when he could hear again Papa was shouting at Lucy to go downstairs and open the door and Dad had found where it hurt so badly and was pressing on it hard with his hand so that it didn’t hurt as much. Dad was mumbling to himself, maybe to Papa too because Papa’s face was very pale. There was noise downstairs and all of a sudden Papa had picked him up and Andrew was maybe screaming a little and Papa was going down the steps with him in his arms, Dad pounding after him.

He saw the lights flashing first, and Geoff too, white as paper in the doorway with his EMT friend Richard. “No,” Andrew moaned because he _hated_ hospital, he hated it and he didn’t want to go, _he didn’t want to go_ but it didn’t seem to matter what he wanted or not because Papa was getting into the ambulance and Dad was saying, “I’ve got to get Kaden, we’ll be right behind you,” and then Andrew was throwing up again and it hurt so very badly and there were bees buzzing in his ears and around his eyes until there were so many everything went black.

 

.

The first thing Andrew thought of when he woke up was that his mouth was really, really dry, and that was awful. It tasted like plastic and sick and _hospital_ and he groaned, feeling his stomach roil.

The second thing he thought of was that he didn’t hurt anymore, but he felt fragile, like moving would make things hurt. He stayed very still, not brave enough to even lift his pinky.

The third thing he thought of was his papa, because that was his voice, close to him.

“—er nderstand how it is that they didn’t catch this,” he was saying.

“ _I_ didn’t catch it,” his dad’s voice answered, and Andrew already knew that tone – guilt, and lots of it. It made him hurt inside his chest. “He was pale when he got out of school.”

“And the girls were fighting.”

Lucy’s tear-filled voice came from Dad’s other side. “We’re sorry, we’re so sorry.”

Andrew opened his eyes and saw his dad’s head turned towards Lucy’s voice, but Papa was looking at him, right at him. “Good morning,” he said with a smile.

“Hi,” Andrew croaked, and Dad’s fingers squeezed tightly before softening. 

Dad looked like he’d been crying a whole lot, like he’d spent hours and hours at it. “How are you? Anything hurt?”

“No,” Andrew said, which was the truth – he had never felt so comfortable. “What happened to me?”

“Your pendix,” Lucy whispered, her face streaked with tears. “We were fighting and you were upstairs and your pendix burst.”

“Appendix,” Papa corrected softly. He brushed his fingers back through Andrew’s hair. “Your brother has something to tell you, about the reason you’ve been fighting.” Andrew froze, but Papa said, “Go on.”

Andrew swallowed. “It’s not their fault. I’m the one who took the Lily Locket makeup, it was an accident, I just wanted to test the levels of cerebrosides found in common cosmetics.”

Dad gaped at him, and the girls gasped with horror. Papa said, “I’m proud of you for finally coming clean, it shows a strength of character.”

“As soon as you’re better you’re grounded,” Dad said, and kissed him on the forehead.

 

5.  
Andrew's dad is ridiculous. He worries about the most unimportant things, and he never cuts Andrew any slack at all, and he's constantly interrupting Andrew's experiments with barked orders to take out the rubbish or finish his laundry or get off the computer and go to bed already. He always expects more from him than he does all of Andrew's siblings combined, always takes the girls' sides on everything, and keeps telling Andrew he has to 'set an example' for his baby brother, which is so stupid it makes him want to scream.

However, at this moment Andrew doesn't give a right bloody _fuck_ about any of that. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

The officer attempting to arrest Andrew's dad pauses in surprise but doesn't bother looking up at him. "I'm going to need you to step back, son. This has nothing to do with you."

"I’m not your son -- _he's_ my dad," Andrew corrects sharply. His bags lay untended inside the front door -- the bags his father was holding are sideways on the ground, everything inside already ruined. He doesn't care about the arrest happening right in front of their flat or the damaged goods; it happens occasionally, given his papa’s line of work. Most of the time it ends with lots of apologies and his father getting to yell at someone, which everyone enjoys. The most difficult thing about it is being stuck watching Kaden until one of his parents or Mrs. Hudson comes home. So no, the arresting doesn't bother him; what bothers him is the _manner_ in which they're going about it. "And you can't take that away from him."

The officer (Koch, new to this division, trying to make a name for himself, resents Andrew's parents for butting in on a case he thinks he should have had a crack at first, not married, no-- dating, dating but soon to be engaged, oh, and he hates the smell of mint) holds the cane like a spear. "Could be used as a weapon."

"It's fine, Andrew," his dad says. It's the dead of winter, the ground is caked in ice and slush, and his dad's been using the cane all day, even in the house. His hands are cuffed behind his back, so he can't even steady himself. Andrew's a genius, he's a good authority on when things are fine, and this, all of this, is definitely _not_ fine.

"He needs that to walk," Andrew argues, enunciating every word carefully, like he's speaking to a particularly stupid animal. "You're being discriminatory." Andrew is already his father's height, and his dad says he's probably not even finished growing yet. He uses every inch he has to loom over the man. From his expression, it's pretty clear Koch is not happy with this, and Andrew has to fight not to smirk at him.

" _Shut up_ , kid," Koch says, pulling Dad away.

Dad pulls up short at his words. "Don't talk to him like that."

"Will the two of you _shut it_? This is not a debate." He pulls Dad sharply, too sharply, and Dad stumbles awkwardly. Andrew throws himself forward and holds his dad up -- and if that means he accidentally shoves Koch away, well.

"Alright, that's it," Koch says, moving to drag Andrew around as well. "You want to go with your da, that's fine with me."

Dad yells at them both, tugging at his cuffs, and Andrew is maybe possibly yelling at Koch, and then there's a slam from a car door -- two slams -- and--

"What the _bloody hell_ is going on here?" Geoff's voice cuts through the chaos.

They all look over to where Geoff, another officer, and Papa are striding over. Andrew can't see the expression on Koch's face but he's sure it's a sight. Koch lets go like Andrew's bit him, and Andrew turns around, glaring.

Papa is looking between them, an aggravated expression on his face. "This has gone quite far enough, don't you agree?" he directs at Koch, who stares balefully back.

"He was interfering in police procedure--"

"He was helping his injured father walk to the car, you fatuous irritant," Papa interrupts sharply. "And we don't have time for this -- Lestrade?"

Geoff's unlocked the cuffs on Dad in the meantime, and looks over to Papa. "I'm ready when you are."

Papa steps up carefully to Koch, who swallows and tries not to step back. Papa snatches the cane from his hand. "Let's go, John," he says, staring Koch down. Andrew resists the urge to smirk.

Papa hands the cane off to Dad and strides to the car; Dad turns to Andrew first, a strange look on his face. It's somewhere between pride and affection, and makes Andrew feel like an adult and a kid all at the same time. "Go in and get cleaned up, we'll be home later."

Andrew nods and goes to get the discarded bags. As he leans over his Dad kisses the top of his head. Andrew smiles at the ground.


End file.
